


Uncle Dean

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, School Dances, Tattooed Dean, Teacher Castiel, Uncle Dean Winchester, Uncle Dean to the Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “This man is harassing me!” Jersey Housewife cries.A few heads turn. Mostly other mothers running the stand—the kind that are Facebook friends with Mama June, and don’t exclusively associate with her outside of school drives and PTAs, but need to keep good graces for their kids if they need new backpacks, so they turn their noses up at Dean.“Uncle Dean, what happened to my—?” Magna, too, skids to a stop in her black Converse. “Mr. Novak? What’s going on?”





	Uncle Dean

Under, over, up, and through. He sighs. That’s what he did, and yet, somehow he ends up with the thinner piece in front, and his thumb caught in the knot. Needless to say, Poor Curly, who’s twisted in it all, looks more perplexed than usual thanks to Dean’s secondhand Boy Scout skills. Moe looks shocked by the sudden disappearing act of his friend, and Larry is absolutely horrified.

“Magda!”

The patter of little footsteps echo across the hallway. “Do you need help again, Uncle Dean?” Her hands fly to her waist as she asks that, causing the black frills on her gothic dress to bounce. Dean swears the way she drops her head and smirks up at him with those big brown eyes of hers was adopted from her dad.

“These things are fabric booby traps!”

“Did you go under, over, up, and through?”

“Yes!”

Magda marches into the room and climbs onto the guest bed next to Dean. Dean swivels to face her, letting her adjust it as she will. “That’s because you over and undered the little tongue!”

“Of course, how silly of me,” Dean deadpans.

“There we go. Now Scrooge is a little happier!”

“ _Stooge,_ Magda,” he corrects, “These guys were the guys who _inspired_ Jim Carrey. Remind me to bring the first season next time I come over. Obviously, your dad’s doing a bang-up job at educating you on the classics, and your cool Uncle Dean has to swoop in and save your poor, sheltered soul yet again.”

“Can we watch _The Shape of Water_ too?”

“ ** _No, no, no,_** _”_ Dean insists, “definitely not.”

“Why nooooottt?” Magda pouts, shaking the black-gemmed tiara atop her head as she crosses her arms.

“Because, your father would never forgive me, and I wouldn’t either for the pain I’d inflict on myself.”

“But I love fish!”

“Then you shouldn’t watch it, trust me.”

Magda’s frown grows deeper, and like he said, Dean’s the cool uncle, and number one responsibility of being a cool uncle is never letting his niece stay sad for too long.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a preview—fish lips attack!”

Magda squeals and giggles as she flees from the bed, and from Dean’s puckered lips. He chases her down the hall before scooping her up in his arms. She laughs one last time, this time directly on Dean’s face. Dean throws his head back. “Whoa whoa whoa, brush your teeth first, munchkin! Then we’ll head out.”

~.~

Dean’s been to a lot of parties, but this is his first that doesn’t have a PBR on tap.

There are women, anyway—but it’s neither the time nor the place. This is a father-daughter dance, not a local bar. Moreover, he makes good on his promises to his brother. And Magda, who he loves like a daughter. Since reuniting with Lisa Braeden a few years ago, and finding out her son Ben wasn’t his too, he’s felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Sure, he’s traveled the country and seen the sights, but the one he missed out on was family—someone to share his life with. The yellow lines in the road start to blur until you run out of gas in El Dorado.

 “You two are just darling.”

Dean flicks his head to the stocky woman standing next to the refreshments. She trades knowing glances from Dean to Magda, talking with a group of kids Dean assumes are her friends. (Hopes, rather. Sam’s confided in Dean about the relentless bullying last year.) “Oh, thanks.”

“So you’re her father? I haven’t seen you at the PTAs.”

“Uncle, actually. Her dad’s out on business.”

“For how long?”

Dean turns to find the woman batting her eyes, causing some of her heavily-applied dark eyeshadow to sprinkle onto her stretched cheeks.

“Sorry,” he scoffs, turning his head, “I’m not interested.”

He hands another mother at the concession money for two Cokes, causing a bit of skin underneath his wool sleeve to ride up.

“Tattoos are forever, you know.”

“So’s plastic surgery,” Dean replies without a beat.

“ _Excuse me?”_ Bird Woman caws, hands flying to her chest. “I’ll have you know I’m the head of the parent-teacher coalition, _and_ the booster club—”

“Well obviously you’re lacking in funding, because that attitude needs a major boost.”

“What’s going on here?”

“This bimb— _oh.”_

Interrupting him is the very sight of the man before him. A few inches shorter than Dean, the gentleman’s packing underneath enemy sleeves. They do, however, provide a nice contrast to his bronze skin, because his blue vest only highlights his eyes.

“This man is harassing me!” Jersey Housewife cries.

A few heads turn. Mostly other mothers running the stand—the kind that are Facebook friends with Mama June, and don’t exclusively associate with her outside of school drives and PTAs, but need to keep good graces for their kids if they need new backpacks, so they turn their noses up at Dean.

“Uncle Dean, what happened to my—?” Magna, too, skids to a stop in her black Converse. “Mr. Novak? What’s going on?”

Dean shoots his head from Roseanne to the handsome instructor. If this confrontation were anywhere else, he’d have no hesitation fighting back. But this is Magda’s day. Sam specifically advised him not to do anything rash. “Uh okay… Mr. Novak. I was just grabbing my niece a Coke. I don’t mean any harm.”

“That’s not what his tattoo says!” Paula Dean asserts, aiming her long red nail at Dean’s right arm. “He has a tattoo of a gun covering his whole forearm! That’s against school code! If he can’t even properly cover it—”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Mr. Novak states, voice echoing and rumbling somewhere in Dean’s chest. He bends to Magda’s level before placing a hand on her shoulder. “Magda, can you do me a huge favor and keep Claire company for a few minutes?”

“Why? Claire hates me.”

“Claire doesn’t hate you,” Mr. Novak reassures, surprising Dean with the gentleness in what was a raspy, dominating voice moments earlier.  “Claire just… doesn’t warm up to a vast majority of people. It’s nothing against you. Maybe you can change that, though. Remember what I said during lecture last week about being a friend?”

“Friends offer torches enemies would rather carry.”

Mr. Novak winks before high-fiving her. “You got it. Now go brighten her night.”

Dean chances a glance at Sharon Osbourne. If what they say about learning from your kids is true, then she adopted this look from her daughter. It’s like the minimum wage worker at her local grocers told her they were fresh out of the key ingredient to make her famous custard—or, as she likes to call it, crème brûlée—for her daughter’s soccer team. You know, just before she reports the poor bastard to the manager, and then the manager to the corporation, and the corporation to the local news.

Luckily, Mr. Novak approaches him before she can write a nasty Facebook post about him. “Dean, is it? Step outside, please.”

Rosie O’Donnell goes from petulant child to sinister parent in just one smirk.

“What? Why?” Dean argues.

“Just follow me. _Quietly.”_

And for reasons applicable to them being on school grounds, Dean will say it was the cold air hitting him on the way out that sends shivers down his spine— _not_ Mr. Novak’s reprimanding tone.

“I promise I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble,” Dean assures once the door closes. “You probably know Magda’s dad. I just wanted to do him a favor. Magda’s a good kid—”

“I know.”

Dean ogles Mr. Novak again, but not for reasons related to his physical appearance. “You… you know?”

And then he has to go and reveal not only beaming white teeth, but creases in his blanket of stubble. “I know you weren’t the one at fault. I was trying to get you away from Meredith. She’s the worst.”

“Oh,” is all Dean can muster. His own lips perk up a bit. Hopefully it doesn’t disburse the rash burning happiness into his freckled cheeks. “Um… thanks… Mr. Novak.”

“Please, call me Cas,” Mr. Novak replies, lending out his hand. Dean accepts it. As he does so, Cas tilts his head a little before nodding. “Now I know where you look familiar.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I teach third-grade social studies,” Cas goes on to explain, “we were discussing Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table once, and I had the kids draw their own Round Table and present it to the class. Magda went up and said she was lucky not live in a time of disease and famine, but to still have two Knights to fight for her honor.

I could tell which stick figure was Sam, even without the name-placer, because he had hair down to his boxy waist and his head reached the top of the paper. But you she drew as a stick figure with a leather jacket, a bunch of rainbow scribbles on your arms, and what looked like a bunch of chicken pox on your face.”

“She… she drew _me_?”

Cas chuckles, “Of course. You’re her uncle. She looks up to you.”

Dean takes a breath to curtail the tears welling in his eyes, but finds that only pushes them out. He rubs them as if he’s working out a stubborn eyelash. “Sorry, it’s just… I haven’t exactly been a role model. Me and my stubborn attitude and dozens of tattoos.”

“I’m guessing that’s what the rainbow scribbles represented,” replies Cas. He gestures to the same tattoo on Dean’s right arm that’s exposed again from wiping his tears. “What’s that one? The revolver?”

“Oh, uh, it’s a Colt. For my dad. It’s the first gun he ever let me shoot. He’d take us to the range when we were kids, even though he didn’t want to see another gun as long as he was deployed. But he knew we liked doing it, so he went along with it.

‘Course, the war called again, and he found himself on the other side of the barrel after his third tour. That’s why his initials are on the handle.” Reluctantly, Dean rolls up his sleeve so Cas can see the full piece. “That’s the last gun I ever touched, too.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“It’s okay, that’s why I have this rainbow slinky next to it.”

“What does the rainbow slinky mean?”

Dean shrugs. “Nothing, really. It’s just something to laugh at. And I like rainbow slinkies.”

Cas’s smile is back at full-throttle. “Right. Well, I better let you get back to Magda.”

“I think she’s gonna be okay for the next few minutes.”

“Why—?”

Dean points in the direction of his niece through the small opening in one of the double doors. She’s dancing wildly with another girl with long, blonde hair who’s also wearing Converse with her dress.

“I take it Claire’s your daughter.”

“How could you tell?”

“The way you’re looking at her,” says Dean, smiling softly, “Sam looks at Magda the same way.”

“She didn’t even want to come,” scoffs Cas. “But it was either that or being babysat by Naomi, so she slapped on a dress and came with. Seriously, Magda is an amazing kid.”

“Compliments of Sam.”

“Compliments of _you,_ ” Cas corrects, turning back to Dean. Before he knows it, Cas is on a bended knee looking up at him. “Sir Lancelot.”

“Anything for you, Sir Novak,” Dean quips, feeling a new warmth rising in his chest he’ll blame on his tuxedo—because seriously, how does Tom Hardy wear these things and still manage to look good?—when, really, he’s having more fun than he’s had in ages. “Is there any way I can repay you for sparing me from the wrath of Count Meredith?”

“Only if thou would be intrigued by the possibility of a date?” Cas asks, smiling shyly with a particularly itchy neck as he stands back up.

“Thou, thy definitely—screw it.” After all, Sam was always the theatre kid in school.

 

 

 

For the record, according to Cas, Dean does _not_ have fish lips.


End file.
